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Page 362
not come over, ostensibly to say a word about the melee the next day. A companionable arm around Ian's shoulders also managed to provide considerable support.
Outside, Alinor abandoned pretense, ordered Beorn and Jamie to lift their master into the saddle, and told Jamie to ride pillion behind him to keep him there. Ian began to protest, and she turned on him with blazing eyes.
"Shut your mouth, you fool!" she raged. "Well for you I am too well-bred to say what I think in public. What did you think you were doing in there? What did you expect to gain? Do you think the king more likely to keep this promise than any other?"
"No, you bad-tempered bitch, I do not," Ian responded, temporarily invigorated by fury. "But I do think he will be so angry at me that his spite against you will be pale by comparison."
This logical piece of insanity so enraged Alinor that she became quite speechless. She did not say another word nor, in fact, make any sound until, in their bedchamber, she had stripped off Ian's clothes. Then she uttered a cry of consternation. In the hours that had passed since Ian had been bathed, the redness Alinor had noted on his fleshand put down to the warmth of the bath and the irritation of the heat in his armorhad darkened into hideous bruising. His left arm and breast, his right wrist, elbow, and rib cage were all blue and purple, shading to black. Ian's eyes followed Alinor's.
"Oh, hush," he sighed wearily. "What did you expect when I was battered nearly insensible. It is nothing, only bruises. Let me sleep."
Nothing, Alinor thought, as she pulled the bedcurtains closed, he says it is nothing. But he must fight again tomorrow. How will he lift a shield on that arm? How will he sit a saddle firmly when his knee will not hold him? Wildly she wondered whether she could

 
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